


The Wrong Bed

by bioticblackops



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticblackops/pseuds/bioticblackops
Summary: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed, Feyre darling?”
Fluffy modern roommate AU in which Feyre wakes up in the wrong bed after a night out with Mor and too much tequila.





	

Never again, Feyre swore herself while another wave of pain crashed down on her. Never again would she make the same stupid mistakes that brought her in this situation. Never again would she fall so low. Never again would she touch a single fucking drop of tequila. Or gin. Or vodka. Feyre groaned. Damn that vodka.

The whole night was a messy blur. Everything, after they'd left the second bar, blended together. She wasn't even sure at which point Elain and Nesta had bid them farewell nor when exactly Amren had vanished. The last thing she could vaguely remember was when Mor pushed her into a taxi and told her ... something. She wasn't quite sure. Her head was pounding way too bad to even remember her whole name and she had the bad feeling that moving at all wouldn't fare well for the contents of her stomach.

Feyre Archeron was feeling like hell and she blamed it on her best friend and her suggestion to drown their singleness in alcohol. As if she needed to drown that, she was happily single, thank you very much. Still, it was hard to say no to Mor. And it was easier to drown out her prodding about Feyre's non-existent relationship to Mor's cousin with a bottle of tequila on the dance floor at Rita's. Feyre groaned. Maybe the bottle had been overkill.

Knowing the day would bring her nothing but pitiful suffering, Feyre buried her face into her pillow and froze. Something wasn't right here. That was not her pillow. It didn't smell like her expensive hair shampoo, one of the few luxuries she allowed herself with her measly paycheck. No, there was no trace of her here. Instead, it smelt like citrus and the sea. It smelled like ... oh no.

There was an amused cough coming from the bedroom door, making Feyre sit up so fast, her head started spinning and her stomach dropped. Although the latter could also be blamed on the man standing there. Leaning casually against the open door with his trademark smirk and absurdly violet eyes, sparkling with amusement, stood her absurdly handsome roommate and the reason for at least half of the tequila she regretted more with each passing second.

Rhysand looked for all the world like a cat who got the cream and she was very tempted to throw something at him just as soon as the world stopped being a bastard and didn't spin anymore. Before she could say anything or ask what the hell he was doing in her room, Rhys beat her to it.

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed, Feyre darling?”

And with that, the whole world came to a screeching halt. Panicking Feyre looked down and saw that she was indeed completely naked in a bed that was decidedly not her own. The only thing between her bare skin and Rhysand's sparkling eyes was one of his blankets she'd claimed when her drunken mind had decided to crash in his room instead of hers for the night. Feyre took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing this to be a nightmare. Her roommate, though, had another idea.

"Not that I mind, Feyre darling. I just pictured you being naked in my bed for the first time a bit differently."

"Please stop talking," Feyre rasped, burying her face into her raised knees so he wouldn't spot the deep blush crawling over her skin. So she didn't have to look at him and face the embarrassment of the situation. There was too much residual alcohol in her to think clearly and she didn't even have the energy to snap at him. Or the right, considering her drunk ass was in his bed. 

Instead of his trademark laugh and another smartass comment making fun of her situation, she heard slow and careful steps coming toward her before the mattress of that incredibly soft bed (how could she ever have mistaken it for hers?) dipped. She felt the warmth radiating from Rhys and wanted to bury herself in it while another part of her wanted to crawl away and die somewhere in embarrassment and peace. If she was in his bed, where had he ... She really didn't want to know. She probably needed to apologize. No, she really needed to apologize. Her mouth just wasn't working properly.

Rhys didn't touch her or said anything for a few long moments, probably giving her the time for an explanation she didn't have. She had no idea how or why she'd gotten naked into his bed instead of her own. It wasn't even that she could've mixed up the rooms considering they were on opposite sides of their shared apartment.

So all she really could do was mumble: "I'm sorry."

"What have you to be sorry for?" He asked incredulously. Without looking up, she just made a vague gesture at herself in his bed.

"Feyre, look at me."

She just mumbled something for the negative. The mattress dipped again and the heat came closer.

"Feyre."

His voice was soft, caring. There was no humor in it at all. Just softness and understanding. It was that that made her forsake the safety of her knees and look at him, although still avoiding his face. Her eyes were fixed at the collar of his black shirt. She rarely saw him wear t-shirts, even at home. He only wore them when he went training with Cassian or Azriel. Before she could get lost in thought, a hand carefully settled on her cheek, softly and slowly as if not to startle her. She expected her body to become rigid from the unexpected touch. Instead, she melted in it, almost closing her eyes again.

With incredible gentleness, Rhys forced her to look up, look him into the eyes. This time, she found no humor there, no amusement or playfulness. Instead, something she couldn't quite pinpoint looked back at her, making her heart beat a bit faster. His thumb was gingerly stroking the skin of her cheek, directly under her eye. She couldn't remember removing her makeup so there were most likely mascara streaks all over her face and his pillow. Feyre opened her mouth to apologize again but for a second time Rhys was having none of it.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. Ok?"

Searching his face and only finding earnestly there, she bit her lip and nodded slowly.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do. I'll get into the kitchen and make you a cup of your favorite tea and a big batch of those godawful toaster waffles you claim are better than the real deal while you get in the shower. Because frankly, Feyre darling, while you still look absolutely delicious, you also look like hell spit you out after chewing on you for a while."

Feyre huffed a laugh and Rhys smiled, happy he was slowly drawing her out of her shell.

"I know you probably feel like it too, but I promise a shower and a good breakfast will help. And afterwards, we'll spend the day on the couch, eating as much ice cream as you like and watch your beloved crappy horror movies. Sounds good?"

"Sounds perfect."

Rhys gave her another big smile before something in his eyes suddenly changed. He opened his mouth and closed it again before leaning towards her. For a short moment, Feyre was sure he was going to kiss her. But instead of feeling his lips on hers, he just stroked her cheek before letting her go and standing up. The bed felt a lot colder without him.

Rhys walked over to the door to set his plan in motion when something occurred to Feyre, something she needed to know.

"Rhys?"

He turned around, eyebrows raised.

"What ... what did you mean by you pictured me being naked in your bed for the first time differently?"

That smirk she loved so much (and she sometimes wanted to throttle him for) came back to his lips.

"Oh, Feyre darling. And here I was, thinking our lovely meddling Mor had told you. Seems like you need to figure it out on your own."

And with that cryptic note, he strolled out of the room. She was just about to shout a question after him when it hit her. The memory of Mor's cheerful laugh when Feyre insisted in the middle of her sad-drunk-phase, that even if she was interested in Rhys – which she wasn't. Really, she wasn't! – he would never be interested in her. Mor had just shaken her head, knowing grin on her lips, and said "Honey, you couldn't be more wrong. I don't think there's anything that would make my cousin happier than finding you naked in his bed. Maybe you should give it a try and see what happens."

Feyre, groaned, loud enough to make her brain rattle. "I'm going to kill her."

From the kitchen, she could hear a low, sensual laugh that made her belly flutter and toes curl and she couldn't help but smile. Maybe this day wouldn't be so bad after all.


End file.
